The Dark Knight
by Rodmeister
Summary: Red ink has marked this story... "Read me"
1. Chapter 1

and here we… go.

Alfred looked up in time to see his master burst through the door. Quickly he threw the lighter and half burned envelope behind a red sofa wrapped in tightly pinned leather. "Mr. Wayne," Aflred began as collected as always. "Will you be needing me to tend to any of your…" He examined Bruce closely. Knowing him for so long, Alfred had learned to accommodate for these types of situations rather well.

Bruce went over to a small coffee table. It's wooden legs sprawled into dragon's claws grasping at the red Persian rug beneath them. On top were raised two spotless glasses and a bottle of Bourbon. Alfred waited patiently as Bruce finished off half of the golden liquid. He didn't approve of his ways of dealing with troubles, but now was not his time to intervene.

The apartment was dark, lit only by the coffee table's evening lamp and lights cascading their way in from the city. "Perhaps, we should get you cleaned up Mr. Wayne." Alfred offered.

"No," Bruce replied from a burned throat. His voice seemed even gruffer now then when he had been out on the streets.

"Well," Alfred glanced at the leather couch aware of his unfinished business. "I'll be in the kitchen preparing a light meal then."

Bruce soon remained alone standing in the darkness at the edge of his apartment. He gazed out the perfect glass into the sparkling city. The suit had lost its flare and enthusiasm now that it wasn't in use. It hung on him blatantly waiting to see action.

Once again, Bruce found himself questioning his own actions.

Harvey had died at the hands of Batman. He slammed the bottle down hard. It was almost enough to break the table, but he knew all too well about pushing things to their limits.

_I killed a man who risked his life so Batman could save the city_. _I killed a man._ It had gone against every one of Bruce's principles. He was supposed to be delivering justice, not creating his own. Harvey should have been in the hospital. How could a man so strong, so anti-crime, so devoted to a better world have fallen to someone like The Joker? No man of greatness could turn to a life of evil without an influence. At the time, The Joker was that influence.

Bruce ripped the bottle off of the table, this time only taking a few sips. No matter what he did, Batman could never be the hero. People would always fall to the rising evil. For years now he had battled the crime rates.

He knew the demographics by heart and looked them up in his mind. He could see the red line year after year steadily increasing. Maybe the battle hadn't been won. It probably never would. _Dent was the closest man to stopping it, and look what happened. If Batman stops, the numbers will nearly double._

Bruce hastily tore off his forearm guards and threw them onto the couch. "Master Wayne?" Alfred called from the other room. He looked around the corner to see Bruce wallowing in his confliction. "I have some tea prepared, sir." Bruce turned quickly then looked away. "It's lotus orange." Alfred offered.

Carefully Bruce placed his bottle down and began walking over to his butler. Alfred carried the tray over, meeting him halfway across the living room. His master grabbed a cup without stopping on his way into the kitchen. With Bruce's back turned Alfred knelt down, slyly grabbing the half burned letter. He pushed it down into his back pocket while walking back into the kitchen.

The tiled room was also dim with a few overhead ceiling lights that were set to low. "I have some soup on the stove." Alfred announced pouring a bowl across the room. Bruce stared out the nearest window, this one smaller then his floor to ceilings and facing the east. He stared out at helicopter's circling the perimeter. Lights of stationary cop cars along the cities edge illuminated the ground below with reds and blues. The ferries had returned and frightened passengers from the civilian ship were running out into the streets.

"Here you are sir," Alfred said setting the bowl onto Bruce's hand crafted glass table.

"I'm not hungry Alfred."

"Very well. You know sir, we all have to eat sometimes. Even Batman." Bruce frowned at the remark and turned to see Alfred picking up the food for the waste disposer.

"Leave it." His voice was still harsh with only a slight bit of anger. Bruce was finally coming back to his billionaire playboy persona. Alfred left the kitchen to replace the bottle of Bourbon in the other room.. Bruce turned again to face the window. He heard the TV buzz to life in the other room. A blue glare shot across the glass.

"Cynthia Graham here. We are live in Eastern Gotham at the soon to be built Broight building where we are awaiting the arrival of the notorious serial killer only known as The Joker. SWAT teams rushed to the scene earlier today after threats made by the escaped convict were released over local news station GCN. As of now there are currently no reported deaths or injuries.

"It is suggested that our caped crusader, The Batman, had captured the serial killer early on, leaving him hanging atop the un-finished Fleet building for members of Harvey Dent's anti-crime program to take into custody.

"Currently there are no signs of the DA, who after becoming severely burned was evacuated from Gotham General. Police commissioner, James Gordon, also fails to be present, leaving everyone questioning… why?" Her voice seemed to turn more serious and interested. "Stay tuned for more information as we uncover more regarding this grim situation."

Bruce listened to everything she said while paying attention to the TV's blue reflection across the glass.

Abruptly a card fell in front of the window spinning by a string.

Bruce's eyes widened in surprise. It kept spinning and he watched it change from a lighter side to a darker one a few times over before it slowed enough for him to see what was on it. One half was the dancing figure of a joker. Red words sprawled across its surface reading, "The Games Have Just Begun." The card turned once again revealing a picture of Rachel Gagged and sitting in an old warehouse.

Bruce pushed open the window and pulled the card. The string along with a timer fell into his palms. He picked up the joker and examined both sides. "What is it Mr. Wayne?" Alfred called from the living room.

"The Joker." Alfred listened intently waiting for an explanation as to how Bruce knew the maniac had escaped the police a second time. Bruce came into the living room and grabbed his arm guards again. "The card was on a timer. He knew this was going to happen. He's got Rachel."

"Good luck then to you sir." Alfred bid. Watching Bruce leave, he reached for the letter in his back pocket, but found nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

"And, thank… you." His words were quick before pulling out two knives and lodging them into the chests of his clown masked minions." The Joker dropped two cards of himself onto the almost dead men. He really was grateful they had set him free, but after all it was only a game.

"Ok come on," he said waving his hand. A shadowy figure came out from a dark room not too far away. "Come on, come on, come on." His voice was excited like that of a little school girl's. Quickly as planned, he tied the impersonator to Batman's rope.

"Ha Hee!" The Joker laughed jumping from the edge of the building. A purple and rectangular parasail opened up rapidly revealing a very basic red smiley face as he glided downward towards the prisoner ferry. Everything was going smoothly.

He landed on the top with a thud. Quickly The Joker wrapped up the purple material and threw it off the side. People were such morons, he thought to himself. _Wait till they see my main act._

One of the guards stepped out from under the red awning probably trying to make peace with God before his ship would be blown to smithereens. It was already too late for the civilains to blow up his ship and live. For some reason The Joker had decided not to blow them up right away. The Joker knew this watching the man. He knew that even though the ship was out of harms way, a hilarious amount of explosives were all just waiting.

The Joker clicked his tongue, waiting for the man to turn. Once the guard did The Joker came crashing down upon him. He sprang up in excitement only to pick up the guard by the back of his head and slam it into a rusted guard rail.

"That's right Chuck. And the sight is a dismal one at that. Evacuees will soon be having to pass by their captor who should be arriving shortly with a twelve man escort. Still no sign of Commissioner Gordon." Several other reporters struggled to inform the public over the bitter wind. Cynthia Flapped her hair back obviously frustrated with all of the commotion around her. She was relieved to see the attention shift towards the skyscraper's entrance.

Men in white shirts came out with their arms raised. Each man had a M4 jammed into their back as they walked down the construction ramp. Police ran over immediately to begin cuffing. The criminals were thrown behind barred windows with doors slamming, barricading them in.

A cop grabbed Cynthia's camera man and started pushing him away. All of the news crews were being directed to leave the area. An overweight cop grabbed her from behind and started pushing her out of the police line tape. "Get your hands off me," she yelled trying to catch a glimpse of the deranged lunatic. Fellow reporters were doing the same. For weeks now they had been working to expose The Joker for who he was. This was their first chance to see him and now they were being told to leave.

Members of the SWAT team dressed in black carried him out on a stretcher through the crowd of police. Every appendage was strapped down with three skin tight leather bands. Cynthia caught a glimpse of the man's smiling face with red lipstick smudges.

In person, even from far away, he looked more deranged. His lunatic face half rotted, eyes sunken in surrounded by black make up, greasy hair haven't been washed in weeks all were his idea of fear. Some sort of sick mockery on the whole human race. His clothes were stained with God knows what. His hands shook with excitement or maybe it was some sort of overdose Cynthia couldn't tell. His smile was the last thing she saw.

Harmlessly The Joker stepped off the ship in his new black uniform. He kept his head low and his hat down to prevent anyone from noticing his trademarked scars. His eyes were filled with crazed passion. Excitement shook at his very fingers. Before he raised the blinking remote from his pocket, The Joker licked the edges of his mouth. Everyone seemed to surround his joke, the one man stuck on a restraining table so strung out on morphine he had no idea what was going on around him. There was a quick shrug before pressing the button. He held back a small laugh and widened his grin without stopping to admire the glory.

Shattered windows rained down within the 50 yard radius. The street was covered with shards of glass. Bodies that hadn't incinerated were smashed against the sides of cars and buildings. Screams erupted from all around.

Someone flew past him and slid into the side of a civilian black van. "You think you know someone…" He said the expression with the kindest of gestures to the body. His face contorted into the most normal of manners before he pushed another button. Speakers blared a pre-recorded laughter while thousands ran around him trying to escape another possible explosion.

Above bleeding survivors and buildings blown wide open was giggle. A chuckle at what he had accomplished. People screaming, fleeing in sheer terror, all they could hear besides their own children was a laugh. Mocking them. Mocking a universal emotion that only he, The Joker, would frown upon.

The living prisoners from the evacuation ferry scrambled into the dark alleyways as most guards fell to the ground in defeat or in most cases death.

He walked over to the damaged vehicle and climbed inside the driver's seat. "Ok let's see here," he said pulling an enormous pair of keys out from under his new black coat. The keys jingled in his hand has he tried to start the car with each one. Every time he got one wrong the wrinkles in his forehead tightened and he frowned and shook his head.

A police officer ran up to the window trying one last brave to stop the man. "Freeze!" Without looking up The Joker shot him in the stomach. His intense concentration for the keys couldn't be broken by a mere cop. At random he grabbed one and jammed it into the transmission. He cupped his hand to his ear before turning the key and smiled when he heard the engine rumble to life.

"aeh heh!" The Joker whispered satisfied and tearing off down a side street.

After a while the laughing stopped. The purple coated figure zip lined from the half-built, now half demolished skyscraper, the wind forcing his feet to kick through the air. It was clear he was headed for Grant Tower.

A dark figure, cape flapping in the night, smashed him out of the air. They glided for half a second before colliding through the windows of the Eastern Credit Union. Large desks broke beneath their weight as they rolled across the floor. Batman got up right away to look upon his captured. Immediately he recognized the face through the makeup. It was that of Sgt. Davidson, head of Gotham's crime dog division. He was already dead. His hands had been duct taped to the line before being sent over the edge.

"What have you done?" Batman whispered.

Sirens howled from across the city. As Batman turned around to face the wreckage. Half of the police force had been annihilated. The rest of whom were chasing after Batman for the deaths he wasn't responsible for.

He pulled the half burned letter out from his neck lining and began to read it.

"_Dear Bruce, _

_I'm writing to tell you that I've decided to marry Harvey. I plan on telling him this afternoon. I'm sorry things couldn't work out between us…"_

The rest of the note was gone.

**OK so this pretty much sets the stage for what's going to happen. I know Rachel's letter is probably wrong because I couldn't find the script to the movie online. Anyway, what do you guys think? Should I continue or no?**


	3. Chapter 3

A bloodshot eye opened slowly examining the ground around it. It followed the dirt around the construction sight. Irregular and small stones stuck out of the gritty land making them particularly noticeable. The eye looked up a metal stair case to a platform surrounded by iron bars.

"It's alright now." He recognized the voice coming from behind him, but couldn't place it. "It's alright." Whoever it was kept repeating themselves. They were worried yet comfoting. Scared yet grateful, it was something truly amazing for Two-face to hear. The eye saw a gun lying inches away from his waist. Harvey grabbed the Colt before climbing to his feet and spinning around.

Commissioner Gordon tried consoling his family from the now "dead" Harvey. His eyes widened with fear looking into the gun. His wife cried louder realizing what was going on.

"Listen Gordon," Harvey tried to think of a way the situation could work in his favor. "I want you to tell the public that I'm dead. You got that?!." The police chief stared at him blankly. "I want everyone to think Harvey Dent has died. If they don't you can say goodbye to that pathetic little family you have there."

"Harvey, this isn't going to work." Gordon pleaded.

"Make it work."

"I…I…" Harvey aimed the gun down at one of the cowering children.

"You will make this work!" He said in his rough voice.

"I.." Harvey pulled back the hammer. "Yes!" Gordon cried. "Yes, I'll do anything!"

"Good," Harvey said smoothly slowly walking backwards. The left side of his face had worsened from the fall, allowing blood to ooze out of tiny cracks onto his outfit.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'd like to express mine and the stations deepest apologies regarding what's taken place this afternoon," the reporter began. It was a stand in probably taking the place of someone who had died earlier today. "For those of you just tuning in we are covering the attacks made on just south of Gotham point. After capturing The Joker an explosive from inside of the man detonated leaving 76 people dead and 38 wounded. Numbers are still coming in. If you have reason to believe that a," the reporter began tearing up "that a family member or loved one was present during the attacks, you are being asked to come down to Gotham Point where emergency staff are tending to victims." The reporter wiped a tear from their eye.

They stopped looking confused for a second before continuing. "We are just receiving word from local authorities that Harvey Dent, former DA, has just been killed in the blast. Authorities tell us that Dent escaped local hospital, Gotham General, with thoughts of speaking to the dangerous serial killer. His exact motives are being left unidentified at the moment.

Bruce squinted trying to analyze the situation. He thought he had killed Harvey after knocking him off a several story construction site. It wasn't totally impossible for Batman to be wrong about Dent's death could it? _Harvey must have been after revenge_, Bruce thought.

He knew all too well that The Joker was still at large. News stations like CGN were informing citizens that every criminal threat had died, without knowing that the real Joker was running around scheming. He had to be stopped and Batman had to stop him.

Bruce flipped the station trying not to think about it.

"See I don't really get what's going on in this town," Jay Leno remarked on his late night television show. His audience listened intently for a punch line, but Leno remained serious. "They're losing people everyday, it's really a shame, but take a look at the freaks doing it." Everyone laughed. "You've got a guy running around in clown make up and a purple suit. Supposedly he's so good the police can't even stop him. Clown makeup… ah geeze." The crowd continued laughing with Jay letting out a chuckle. A small picture of the Joker came up on a television behind Jay. "Th, the only thing they got down there to stop him is a another guy frolicking through the streets in a cape and tights. I know, I know. A lot of you are thinking, who would have thought that gays were so tough?" The crowd exploded into laughter. The camera showed a close up of a gay man pointing and laughing. "Really though, who's going to go and take some action?" The crowd tried to calm down. "Some officials think the two are working together." He waited for the perfect time to let out another line. "I told 'em, yeah they're working together." He raised his elbow imitating a nudge. There were whistles shooting out of the crowd as people slapped their knees. "Not my kind of work." He said trying to keep the crowd going longer.

Bruce turned off the TV. "Is everything alright Master Wayne?" his butler questioned from over his shoulder.

"Yeah Alfred."

"Might I suggest a rest sir?"

"When do you ever go to sleep around here Alfred?"

"I find time sir." He waited for a while before gliding off like a ghost. Bruce was getting sick of these moments he had alone. They seemed to be always surrounding him. Even with his money, the press, butler and even personal villains nothing made him feel alive. He hoped that Wayne manor would soon be complete and he could return to it exactly as how he remembered. Maybe that would bring him up from the gloom.

Bruce wanted to do research. He wanted right now to be hunting the Joker, saving Rachael, even if she didn't love him.

"Alfred?" The servant came into the living room right away.

"Yes, sir?" Bruce readied himself to question him about the letter, but he decided against it.

"What is Batman doing with his life Alfred?" Alfred somehow already seemed to know the answer.

"Batman is risking his life in the name of justice."

"Why can't I just give in?"

"Sir, the reasons you do things are always unclear to me, but to the people they mean something. What Batman symbolizes is something much greater than neither you nor I can understand." Bruce waited patiently for a more clear answer. "Do as you wish Master Wayne."

Unfortunately it wasn't the answer Bruce wanted to hear, but he'd take it as any advice and examine it. "Is there anything else you called me in here for sir?"

"No, Alfred." Even the room was dark. He looked over the television at a work of art he had one at an auction. It was a surreal painting of a screaming head coming out of the dirt. It's tongue fell like a road onto which disfigured people ran. They held torches as they ran towards a clay city. A witch in her black robes cast a spell from a distance trying to defend the town. She didn't seem to notice that it had already been set on fire. Bruce had always liked this painting, but never knew quite why.

He picked up the new bottle of Bourbon and poured it into a glass.


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel sat tied to a black wheeled, and padded office chair. A red blindfold was placed around her eyes. She didn't want to scream, but a gag stuffed into her mouth wouldn't have let her anyway.

The room was only lit by a very bright light. It hung closely over a white picnic table allowing the surrounding area to be filled with darkness. A black radio sat on top of the table. She heard it click on and start playing the song "My Guy" by Mary Wells.

Rachel felt a sleeve brush past her face before the blindfold was torn off. Her eyes adjusted almost immediately. In front of her was the Joker. "Well, hello." He said kicking the chair across the room. She slid into a wall as he laughed. He waltzed over to Rachel happy as could be. He leaned back strutting his shoulders and shaking his hips to the music before wheeling her over to the picnic table The gag still in her mouth, Rachel couldn't speak, but with her eyes she shot a fiery passion of anger towards the man. She wasn't afraid.

"I'm gonna get something to eat. Ya want anything?" He asked bursting into laughter while walking out of the room.

The Joker came back right away with a small chicken. It rested inside of a black tray and glistened when he walked under the white light. "Ahh," He said sitting down. "Nothin' like a good chicken, y' know?" She tried her best to show the intensity in her eyes. From rubbing, Rachel's arms had become red with rope burn.

"I uh… I gotta little news for you." The Joker ripped off a piece of skin before shoving it into his mouth. "Harvey's dead." He nodded, a piece of flesh dangling from his lips. "Yeah, he... well he kinda went kablooey." He grabbed a handful of meat.

"Mmmhm!" Rachel tried to yell, but couldn't. The rag in her mouth tasted salty with something she couldn't recognize. The song rang in her ears. It was almost as if he had set it up as a torture, but he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it.

"Oh, I know!" The Joker said sure of what she was trying to say. "How come I staged your death, but blew him up?" Rachel's blood rose with anger. "Actually he lived through our little experiment. The Batman…" The Joker let his eyes get bigger as an exasperated sigh pushed its way out of his mouth. "…he saved him."

Rachel became depressed. The sudden news about her boyfriend brought her to tears. "Oh, here." His voice was soothing as The Joker patted her eyes with a dry napkin. Rachel was becoming more and more filled with anger. She felt that she could break through her ropes if it grew anymore.

"Hey," he exclaimed snapping his fingers. "Who am I?" He turned away for a moment, then jumped at her with shreds of chicken skin on his face. His voice had changed now to funny and sinister tone. "Hello Clarice." He waited for an answer. "Hello Clarice." He waited a slight while longer before jumping with his right hand. "Ohp, almost forgot." The Joker ripped out the gag for his hostage to speak.

"Let me go you freak!"

"Actually, I was doing Hannibal," he said frowning and taking the skin off his face. He flicked a piece at her. Being slimy it crawled down Rachael's face before falling into her lap. She didn't know what to say. The Joker seemed to full of himself to care about her.

Now the song had changed to "Laughing boy" also by Mary wells. It was apparent The Joker had a cd going. It was in such poor quality there were constant skips and scratch noises.

"You want to see what he looked like, you know just before he died?"

"Listen you, I don't know what you want from me…mhmmm." He had shoved the gag back into her mouth.

"Here." The Joker slid the picture over to her with a blank expression on his face. Rachael's eyes bulged when she saw the disfigured man that was once her boyfriend.

"Turns out he wasn't even a nice guy after all," The Joker said chomping on a drumstick.

"Went insane after the accident. Kind of two-faced, if you ask me." He finished off a piece of chicken he'd been chewing on for quite a while. "You know, I never thought such a nice guy would…" He said sarcastically. "Oh, ah well. It's not like you would've liked him at all afterwards." The Joker could see Rachael wanting to say something. "Oh you would? I wouldn't, not my type." The clown pulled a bone from his teeth and placed it gently on the plate. The song changed again, this time to "Drop in the Bucket." "Lets dance."

The Joker got up and walked around the table and grabbed Rachael. He spun the chair around for a while then sent her flying. This time she only came close to hitting the wall. He danced over to her again snapping his fingers. "See, if I didn't keep you alive what good would you have been?" He grabbed her tied up hand and swung it within it's limits which were about 3 inches. "This is a whole lot more fun than being dead."

He jumped on the back of the chair and kicked letting them both glide back towards the picnic table. He smiled his greasy hair flailing and his smile wide. A few more times Rachael was spun around. "Your o'l pal Brucy is comin' to save you." The Joker threw her chair back and caught her hand at the last second. "Gave him my card. He should come in handy don't you think?"

Rachel didn't know what to think. Did this man really know Bruce's alter ego or was he just after his money? She was more confused now than angry. This wasn't the normal killer she had been used to putting behind bars. What was wrong with him. He climbed off of the chair onto the table to do a twist before hopping back down. "Come on Rachael, smile."

"Mhmmhmm!"

He walked over to the radio slowly losing his mood. Rachael sat there wondering what was going on. "You're not smiling!" he shouted clicking off the radio. Suddenly the room was deafly quiet. His footsteps echoed throughout the room as he came back to her. "Let me help you out with that."


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce rubbed his bloodshot eyes harshly trying to erase his lack of sleep then blocked a yawn with his fist

Bruce rubbed his bloodshot eyes harshly trying to erase his lack of sleep then blocked a yawn with his fist. He continued walking nonetheless following his secretary down a long brown hallway. Different shades of the color presented themselves in large triangle tiles on the floor. A few bookshelves wedged their way between large panes of glass.

"Tired sir?" His secretary asked walking fiercely down the hall. Her black stilettos clicked against the ground. She wore an almost provocative black number that went well with her mocha complexion. Her dark hair was pulled up into a bun, impaled with a neat chopstick. She turned back to look at Bruce her glasses amplifying her determined look.

Cynthia had worked for Wayne Industries since she was out on the job market. She started off as a secretary for lower level managers, but through her hard work and fortitude, she quickly rose to the top. At only the age of 25 Cynthia had fallen for her boss. There was no way he could have none. She kept their relationship strictly professional. She shoved open a wooden door and pushed Bruce in forcefully. Apparently, he was late.

Bruce stared at a 12 seated table. Large windows covered the walls of the wall opposite him shining down upon 11 people waiting for him to join them. Each wore a suit worth over 400 dollars and had a cup of coffee placed on top of heaps of files. Bruce went over to his chair at the head of the flossy wooden table and sat down.

"Sorry gentlemen," he apologized turning off his beeper. He had forgot the reason Cynthia said he had been called to the meeting.

"Bruce old man," an above average built man boomed from across the table. Bruce looked up through his tired eyes. The man at the other end filled his tall leather chair almost perfectly. His suit was gray along with his shark like white hair. Bruce recognized him as Howard Langston. He had been head of security since Bruce had taken over Wayne Enterprises and you could tell by his rough exterior.

"As you know, we're here to talk about increasing security within the budget's allowance." He paused for a slight minute to let Bruce absorb the concept. "With Gotham's increased crime rate we're prime targets for any robbery that's going to take place." Bruce was offended, but couldn't let it show. Walter must have sensed something because he attempted to reassure. "It's strictly precautionary. We haven't received any threats or anything like that."

"I certainly hope not."

"Isaac here," he raised his hand to a man in a black suit sitting three seats down from Bruce. "He's a head of Pyramid Corporation. I'm sure you've heard of them."

"International security contractors," Bruce confirmed.

"They've been in business for quite a while now and Isaac tells me they can supply us with a hefty amount of protection. That's until all of the escaped convicts have died down significantly."

"That's right Mr. Wayne and if you promise to hire us we can guarantee you the very best in the line of security." Isaac's French accent was heavy. He was very clean from his fresh shave to his shiny shoes hidden under the table. He had a buzz cut of black hair along with pointy nose and blue eyes. He seemed very serious.

Bruce tried to snap himself into the conversation. The meeting had totally taken him by surprise. Now he was being asked to shell out millions for a new security program. "Can we talk about this later Walter?" He wanted to get out, get some rest and recuperate from the night before. All Bruce could think about was getting The Joker, saving Rachel, but that wasn't the only thing plaguing his mind. All of Batman's work had unraveled. Almost every criminal he had helped put in jail, or even the asylum, were running wild taking over the city in everyway.

"Bruce? …Bruce?" Bruce jumped out of his daydream to find himself back at the executive table. "Lets take a walk." Walter got up and headed for the door with Bruce following. "Stay there," Walter called, exiting the room.

The two stepped down the echoing hallway. "Listen Bruce," Walter said almost at a whisper. "We really need them. Wayne enterprises really needs them. We have billions of dollars put into this place and we can't be risking it to any maniacs. Bruce, there are criminals that have moved on from just robbing just ordinary banks and jewelry stores. There are freaks out there, they're leaving riddles, carving tally's into their bodies to count the numbers of hits they've had. You've got that Batman. There's a guy claiming he's The Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland. A girl who thinks she's a cat. There's even someone going around robbing plants. Plants for chrissake! And this is all in one night. Who knows what these nuts are planning to do?"

"Good prevails even in the darkest of times, Walter."

"Until then, we need this security. Everyone knows you're a prime target for anyone of them." Bruce stopped to stare at his subordinate.

"Let me think about it."

"Bruce this could be," before he could finish the sentence sirens went off in the distance.

"I'm sorry, I'm late for an appointment Walter." Bruce nodded and started to head off. "I'll talk to you later in the week."

"Bruce…" but he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

"Too bad about Dent," the officer said to Commissioner Gordon bending over to lace up a boot. The man then strapped on his belt while placing a loaded gun into its holster. Others followed his motions. Since the explosion, criminals had sprawled out across the city. With dozens of men wounded, the force was down to a very limited amount of troops.

Each attempt to stop a crime had to be thought out and use the bare minimum in the line of people and equipment. "Got a call," the man said informing his other men. Gordon watched the squad in despair. "Two junkies at a standoff. 31st and 7th."

"That's North Ridge," An officer confirmed starting to leave along with the others. "Who the hell would want to take a plant store?"

Gordon looked at his brown, worn shoes. The city had fallen, The Joker had won. Even though he was dead, The Joker had gotten Gotham to resort to chaos. This was the 7th standoff today. Five soldiers had already been critically injured serving this afternoon. It seemed hopeless to try and fight it. Some unkown motivation kept him from giving in.

It wasn't his only concern. Harvey was living in the shadows, staying under the radar. Planning on what, Gordon could only imagine. He had moved his family to Durham, a city not far away in hopes of keeping them safe. To him, he knew safety was just an allusion. He had learned it first hand. Dent could be with them right now and he'd never know it. It was time to face the facts.

Gordon had committed his life to suffering and misfortune. What else would you be signing up to be a cop for? Long days, grueling nights, even the new induced breed of crazies. Their own motivations didn't seem to make sense. And then, there was Batman.

The dark knight who truly sacrificed everything for the city was now a criminal. Gordon tried to wrap his mind around the subject. How could someone be so… inhuman? He was grateful though. At least someone was also trying their best.

The station had seemed practically empty now. Most everyone was out on some sort of call. A few men stayed behind the phones to man calls pouring in from around the city. Gordon walked along staring into the few prisoners who had actually been caught. They seemed ready to leave at a moments noticed. Like they were waiting for something or someone to break in, setting them free once again. Gordon knew they had good reason to believe it possible.

_What next?_ He thought. _We can't control Gotham, then what happens? The whole city will be controlled by raging mass murderers and thieves. Then what will they do? Once they have the city, there's nothing stopping them from taking over much smaller ones. _The thought was a terrible, sinking one. _Where was the government now?_

A call coming in through speaker phone caught his attention. "Man down, man down!" Someone screamed out of the receiver. Gordon knew it had been from the men earlier today. He could here another car peel out from underneath the station trying to race its way towards the scene. "Christ! Get me a medic!" Gordon could feel that sinking feeling again. Shots were being fired at the standoff now. "The targets are a man and women. The female is younger, early twenties, red hair, white tank top. The other guy's got some sort of novelty top hat, red trench coat, late 40's. More firing was going on, Gordon wished for it to stop. He walked over to the desk a fat man slept behind, and turned off the radio. He stared at it awhile before turning it back on. Gordon turned up the knob for volume.

"It's him! We've got The Batman down here."


	8. Chapter 8

The Dark Knight glided somewhat gracefully from a second floor rafter. The college student known as Pamela Isley snarled. Plants glowed in the ghostly beams of fogged light. The ceiling for this mausoleum of plants had been made of glass, not wiped in months. While turning to confront the intruder Pamela pulled a black tranquilizer gun from her jeans pocket.

Her bright red hair maelstromed around her shoulders, which were draped with two spaghetti straps. They held a skin tight tank top, too risqué for any occasion. Her breast size seemed to be unmatchable in beauty, but her piercing green eyes, lipstick red lips and cute button nose said otherwise. Pamela's legs although, covered in a tight pair of green jeans, flaring at the bottom, were not to be overlooked either.

Red winged darts sprung quietly from the barrel. They whipped through Batman's cape with ease and a clean cut sound. Pamela flipped open the top of her weapon to slap more of the darts inside, before he landed only yards away from her. Her upper lip curled, enraged. Four more darts jumped from the gun, this time bouncing from Batman's metal chest plate as he got to his feet. Hastily, he walked towards the unarmed girl. A tree in his path was picked up and thrown to the floor in front of him. Crumbs rolled their way to Pamela's feet. She threw her gun aggressively to her side. "Good idea," Batman confirmed in his rough voice. She pouted, before getting into stance.

A bright red heel emerged from under her jeans as she stretched her left leg forward. It stretched, forming a perfect 45 degree angle to the ground, while she raised her hands. One, hung loosely in front, fingers tingling in excitement, the other, behind her head formed into a loose claw. She was rather afraid, relying on the painstakingly hard karate she had been taught as a child.

Batman jumped at her, ready to take Pamela into the nearest wall, but she was too quick. She let out a loud "Aey Yah!" while swinging her back foot up from behind. She spun, her hair catching the wind similar to before, her heel of Isley's stiletto across his mouth. He stumbled backwards, shocked at the strength of this nobody. Pamela caught herself with her hands to avoid the floor.

Batman gave her no time to recover, kicking her in the ribs while she got up. Isley spun wildly over a metal cart of pottery. The brown ceramics made a loud crash breaking on contact with the ground. She landed hard on the chipped pieces. Now, Pamela was truly afraid. The most feared of vigilantes was now after her and a man who only referred to himself as The Hatter. She never imagined a famous crime stopper, even killer, would be after her for petty theft, at a plant shop, no less. She kicked and shrieked as if her life depended on it. Miraculously, one of the red shoes collided with Batman's repelling device before he could hang her.

Pamela sprung to her toes. She jumped into the air finishing a 1-2 roundhouse kick straight to the side of Batman's head. He seemed surprised at her artfulness. _Criminals were only getting better,_ he thought. Batman picked up a small tree used for indoor areas. The pot remained attached to the entire plant as he swung the solid end at her. Isley ducked, then flipped in the air kicking the tree from his grasp. A shower of dirt fell upon her indiscriminately.

In unison their eyes turned, widening at the sight of a dark figure in the doorway to the front of the store. He wore a velvety scarlet top hat. A coat of the same fabric wrapped itself around him, crawling down to the floor. His hands were empty, but sported a pair of woven fingerless gloves. Stepping from the shadows, a crooked nose appeared. It was impossible to see an eyebrow arched quizzically under the brim of his hat. This was, The Hatter, a man Batman had never met, but would come to know quite well.

**Hey guys, I'm sorry I'm no good at writing fight scenes. I promise to try and get better. **


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